Sister Knows Best
by Mr Sinister
Summary: Rebecca Braddock and Sam Guthrie discuss Rebecca's new baby brother Tom while out on a date in Salem. Hilarity ensues...


**_Sister Knows Best_**

   Sam and I are out in Westchester, at the most expensive Italian restaurant that the two of us can comfortably afford to be seen at. Soft music is playing in the background, and there are two candles burning on the table between us, hot wax dripping down the length of the candlesticks and cooling almost instantly into hard, knotty lumps. The light from the soft flames casts shadows along the walls of the booth we're sitting in, showing off the clothes that we spent our whole monthly stipends on: Sam is dressed in a sharp black Armani suit (which I'm pretty sure Mum helped him to pick out– Sam couldn't go clothes-shopping on his own if his life depended on it…), and I'm wearing a full-length evening dress, coloured deep purple and split to the thigh, a diamond-studded choker at my throat. This whole experience is pretty new to me, almost to the point of being overwhelming, but Sam has gone out of his way to make it easier for me, Southern gentleman that he is. I've lost count of the number of times he's put my needs before his tonight (and according to Mum, if that happens more than once, I've either got a real gem of a man, or somebody who's just trying really hard to get into my underwear. I think I can trust that Sam is the former). My date is busy finishing off a large piece of garlic bread and wiping his fingers on his napkin, the remains of his main course still sat in front of him. The way he's carefully crossed his knife and fork on the side of his empty plate seems crazily at odds with the messy way he's eating the bread, so I decide to tell him so.

   "You're lucky this isn't a first date, Sam," I say. "Anybody who eats that badly wouldn't get a second one."

   Sam looks up from his greasy fingers and swallows the mouthful of oily bread he was chewing, looking like he's just had something go down the wrong way. Then he wipes his fingers on his napkin and grins at me. "Girl, you know you'd still be all over me like a rash," he says, winking. "Don't try and hide it – it's written all over your face."

   "Oh, is _that what you think?" I retort, laughing and slapping him playfully on the arm. "Well, you'd be wrong, mister. I __do have standards, you know." _

   "Remember who you're talkin' to, Rebecca," Sam chuckles. "I've seen you dancin' the mambo with Remy and drinkin' yourself stupid on tequila. My momma would probably call you a devil-woman and ban me from seein' you, if she saw you doin' half the stuff I've seen you do. So don't go tellin' me you got standards, honey, because from what I've seen you're just as bad as the rest of the human race." He winks, stuffing another hunk of bread into the side of his mouth. "It's what I like most about you, you know."

   I raise an eyebrow. "You certainly seem to know exactly what to say to make a girl feel special, Sam. Do you practice that in front of the mirror?"

   "Every day," Sam replies, pretty honestly. "I ain't like Remy, you know – I ain't _that much of a charmer." He laughs. "Nobody is, I reckon."_

   "Sounds about right," I agree. "That whole 'mysterious loner' thing he's got going just kind of pulls people in." I smile thoughtfully. "Doesn't hurt to have that 'charm' power, either, I suppose, but I think the rugged, stubbly look kind of speaks for itself anyway…"

   Sam blinks. "You want me to go get you a towel, Bec? Looks like you need one, the way you're droolin'." He sits back in his chair and folds his arms, after swallowing a mouthful of beer from the half-empty glass at the side of his plate. "You know, this ain't exactly the way to go about gettin' a goodnight kiss. How 'bout you sing my praises some? You wouldn't regret it, I promise."

   "Oh, right, right, sorry, I get it – Mum warned me about men's fragile egos," I quip, grinning in amusement at Sam's words. "Something about you having a… a 'pathological need for affection', I think she called it. I see now she was right." Sam purses his lips, looking unconvinced.

   "All girls together, right?" he says wearily. "Figured as much. My momma was the same with Paigey and Elizabeth when they were growin' up. 'Course, Paigey never appreciated it much because she was always followin' me around, even back then. I remember she jumped off a roof tryin' to be like me once – boy, did I catch some hell for that one. You should feel honoured your momma thinks you're worth the same kinda love as Paigey got – that's the best kinda love you can get." He pauses, as if something very important has just struck him. "Speakin' of your momma… how you holdin' up to havin' a new little brother? Must be a pretty big shock, huh? I know I had to take a lot of time to get used to not being an only child when my little brothers and sisters were born, after all."

   I shrug my shoulders, swallowing a mouthful of the sweet white wine in my glass before opening my mouth to speak. "It's… it's not so bad. I thought I was going to hate it – you remember what I told you while Mum was pregnant, don't you?" Sam nods silently, to which I respond with a wry smile and dry laugh. "Well, I don't feel like that at all, now. It _did_ take me a little while to adjust, yes, but I did it, and now I can't imagine my family without him being a part of it. Is that how it happened for you?"

   "Pretty much, yeah," Sam agrees. "I felt like I'd been… betrayed, I guess – like maybe my momma and daddy didn't think I was good enough, so they had to try again. I got over that soon enough, though; seein' Paigey for the first time was one of the best things I can remember – even if she _did_ fart all over me when Momma let me hold her."

   "I think I see why you have to practice being a charmer, Sam," I say sardonically. "What is it Bobby says in this kind of situation? Oh, right… now I remember – 'talk to the hand, honey, 'cause the face ain't listenin'.'" I hold my hand up so as to block my view of Sam's bemused expression, and try my best not to smile. "Can we talk about something else, please?"

   "Like what?" Sam enquires with a demonic glee, his face the picture of false innocence. I can just see him thinking of the next thing he can say to make me feel ill... call it an instinct by now, I suppose.

   "Don't push your luck, Sam," I warn him, only half-jokingly. "If you mention babies farting again, I'll skin you alive. And I know exactly where to start cutting, too." I draw my finger along the line of my throat just to underline my point, which doesn't seem to have as much impact as I had hoped it would: Sam only breaks out in a huge grin. He's planning something, I can tell.

   "All right, Bec," he says, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. "You win. I'll never talk about that again." His grin turns to laughter. "Well, except when I want to gross you out. Then you won't hear the end of it."

   I kick him under the table, just hard enough to make him sit up. "Don't make me come over there, farm-boy," I retort, making a semi-annoyed face at him and giving him a playful nudge on the arm, before I raise my hand and call over a waiter, asking if he can bring us the cheque. When he has gone, I gesture towards the door and say "Do you think they'd notice if we ran?"

   Sam's horrified glare tells me all I need to know about what he thinks of that idea…

*

   It's a nice night – one of the best I've ever seen (the night sky in Paris is better, I think, but only because it's somewhere other than home. Something about it being different makes it more fun, I guess). The sky is clear and cloudless, the moon is full, and dozens of tiny pin-pricks of light mark where there are stars shining down on Sam and me. It makes me hook my arm into Sam's left elbow, drawing closer to him as my breath starts to mist in the air, and I can feel a spring coming into my stride. Sam feels it almost as soon as it begins, and he laughs. 

   "Feelin' feisty, huh?" he asks, matching my pace step for step so that we're almost dancing down the street. "I can deal with that." Slipping his arm around my waist and taking my left hand in his right, he starts to pull me along the street with him as part of what I think Mum calls a waltz. He is careful not to go too quickly at first, so that we don't end up tripping over each other's feet, but when he senses that I'm just about caught up to what he is doing, he picks up a little more speed. Soon we are whirling through the cold streets, passing through pools of light splattered on the pavement by street lamps and past a few surprised pedestrians, who look at us as if we are both insane. In a way, I suppose we both are – I doubt either of us would consider doing this on our own or with any other person – but it feels completely natural here and now, in this moment in time. We dance and laugh and kiss until we're too out of breath to do anything but stand gasping for air, holding tight to one another and feeling the cold air start to bite again, through the burning heat in our legs.

   When I can find some breath to speak, I say "Can we do that again?"

   "Maybe in ten years, when I start breathin' again," Sam wheezes, his face glowing red from exertion. Then he grins widely despite himself, and clasps me to him in a playful kind of way, his breath misting in the air before his face. "Glad you enjoyed yourself, honey." Then he looks at his watch and sighs. "Darn – it's gettin' late. Maybe we should be headin' home; your folks are probably worried about you." I step towards the edge of the curb, holding my hand out for a cab that is just passing by, when Sam touches me on the hand and shakes his head. "Don't bother," he says. "Why do that when you can travel Guthrie Express?" 

   "What – what do you mean?" I ask, even though I know exactly what he wants to do. Then Sam leans in close to me, slipping his hands about my waist and telling me to do the same to him. In an instant, his blast field ignites around us, the world disappearing in a blur of yellow energy. It takes a moment or two for it to turn translucent, surrounding both Sam and myself with an impenetrable, yellow-tinted barrier and lifting the two of us off the ground, gently at first, and then faster and faster, until we are cruising comfortably at a height of about fifty metres. It's weird – I know I should be feeling the wind in my face, but there is no sensation of air rushing past me at all. Instead there is only the sound of it as it flows over and around Sam's energy trail. For the first time, I know what Sam feels like when he uses his powers – it feels exhilarating, like nothing I've ever felt before. My body tingles with excitement from head to toe, and I feel as if I want to shout with the sheer joy of it all. Sam notices my expression, and he blushes bashfully, like the shy Kentucky boy Mum tells me he used to be. Old habits die hard, I guess.

   "Hey, I should take you flyin' more often, if it makes you smile this much. You got a pretty smile," he says over the slight, throaty growling of his power. "Hold tight…" He flips over slowly, leaving a little corkscrew of energy glowing behind him, and then pulls upward in a steep climb before looping back around and drawing a bright circle in the air with his vapour trail. He grins at me when it's finished, and shouts "Impressed yet?"

   "I guess so," I tell him, making sure to sound as grudging as possible. "How about you stop showing off and start getting us home, farm-boy?"

   "Well, okay – but remember, you asked for it," Sam chuckles. "Try not to lose your lunch, honey." And just like that, he starts to accelerate towards his top speed, his blast field getting fiercer and fiercer around us as he spews more energy out behind him. The night sky blurs slightly, all the stars melting together and turning into long streaks of light as we fly back to the mansion at close to the speed of sound. 

   We set down in the mansion's grounds, somewhere in the rear garden. What I think is an owl is hooting somewhere in the distance, and there are a few scattered lights still on in the windows that stud this side of the mansion's exterior. Other than that, the scene is pretty deserted, and Sam and I are free to wander up to the back door of the mansion pretty much undisturbed. Pulling a key out of my pocket, I slip it into the lock and push the door open, stepping inside and hanging my coat up on one of the hooks fixed to the wall. Sam follows suit, and then we walk slowly out of the back hall area into the main body of the mansion. It's nice to feel sustained warmth against my skin again after the chill of the night air, and I tell Sam so. He grins.

   "Yeah, it's all good, ain't it?" he says, before jerking his thumb toward the rec. room. "Say, you want a nightcap?"

   "Why, Sam Guthrie," I say, doing my best to look as sly as possible, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to get me drunk."

   "Well if you thought that, I'd have to say I was too late," Sam fires back without a pause. "You're pretty toasty right now, I reckon." He waits for me to look shocked (which I apparently do quite quickly), and then winks. "Aw, you know I don't mean it, honey."

   "You better not," I warn him, wagging my finger at him reproachfully. "Or I'll kick your Kentucky arse from here to Brazil."

   "Sounds like fun," Sam chuckles, before taking my hand in his and leading me towards the rec. room. "So you're up for a vodka martini before bed, huh?"

   "Now you _are trying to get me drunk," I retort, taking his arm anyway and walking with him through the ornate oak doors and towards the small bar that is placed up against the opposite wall. As soon as I do so, though, something else grabs my attention: Mum and Dad are slumped in one of the sofas that face the large television, with my little brother slumbering peacefully in a small baby-carrier on the coffee table in front of them. I suppose I must be less aware than I thought, since I hadn't sensed them up until a moment or two ago – maybe Sam was right after all. Maybe I'm more drunk than I thought. Whatever I am, I wander quietly over to where Mum and Dad are sleeping curled up in each other's arms, and watch them for a moment or two. "Look at them… they must be exhausted," I whisper. "I wonder what Tom's been up to this evening?"_

   "Looks like he's just as out of it as they are," Sam says, thoughtfully, as he leans down to check on my brother, who is rubbing at his nose in his sleep. His tiny hands open and close gently as he does so, and he gurgles contentedly as a fuzzy, unfocused dream begins to swim into his mind. It looks like Big Bird from _Sesame Street, but the edges are blurred, and I can't tell where it starts and ends. All that's really there is a vivid swirl of colours, mixed with vague sounds that I think are supposed to be Mum and Dad talking to Tom. Whatever it is, it seems to be keeping him happy, so I leave him to it and, cautiously, reach out to touch Mum and Dad on the arm. I almost hate to wake them, but then it's probably better if they get some proper, more relaxed sleep in their room. When I do touch them, Mum wakes first, blinking at me with bleary eyes._

   "Hello… hello, sweetheart," she mumbles, almost in a daze. "Did you have fun?"

   I nod, smiling broadly. "Yes, I had a lovely time. Sam took me flying, and before that we danced a waltz in the street and ate lots of garlic bread. It was fun."

   Mum blinks. "It sounds it. I trust you were good to my daughter, then, Samuel?"

   "Absolutely, ma'am," Sam says respectfully, although I can still detect a little bit of involuntary nervousness behind his eyes. It's nothing strong, though, and Sam can easily handle it. "Paid the bill in full myself, too."

   "Ooh," Mum says, doing her best to sound like a bedazzled teenager, "I think you've got yourself a keeper here, Rebecca."

   I purse my lips, putting a hand to my brow. "Mum, you're embarrassing me…"

   "It's what I do best, button," Mum tells me, smiling sweetly as she does so. "It's in my contract, I think you'll find."

   "I'd have to agree with that, honey," Dad says, finally waking up from his half-sleep and coming into the conversation. "She's done it to me enough times, after all. You'll get over it eventually… in about a million years."

   "Thanks for such inspiring words, Dad," I fire back at him, flatly, before giving both him and Mum warm hugs of greeting. "I hope your evening was as good as mine."

   "Oh, it was great fun," Mum replies, sounding exhausted. "Tom cried a lot, then he slept for half an hour, then he cried some more, then he slept for a bit, then we fed him, then we changed him, then he slept for a little while longer…" She sighs. "I don't think he even _wants_ to settle, sometimes. But he does mostly sleep during the night, so that's a blessing, I suppose…"

   As if on cue, Tom wakes up and begins to wail plaintively, his keening cries making Mum's shoulders droop in defeat. But before she can drag herself over to where Tom is lying, I stoop and pick up my little brother, cradling him gently in my arms for a moment or two and in the process causing him to go quiet almost instantly. "It's okay, Mum," I say, softly, before brushing some hair out of my eyes. "I think he just wanted to be held."

   It occurs to me, suddenly, that just a little while ago I could have snapped Tom's neck like a twig and not thought twice about it (maybe I'd even have celebrated doing it), but right at this moment I couldn't imagine doing him any harm at all. In fact, all that I can think about as I hold him close to my chest is how perfectly-formed his tiny hands are – something I know I would have fought hard against only a few short months ago. Right now, however, I'm completely at ease with this whole set of circumstances, and Tom doesn't feel at all out of place when he's cradled in my arms. In fact, he almost seems like a welcome guest.

   "You're a natural, kid," Sam murmurs, before Mum holds her arms out for Tom so that she can strap him into his carrier and leave the room along with Dad. "A baby looks good on you."

   "Well, don't get any ideas, flyboy," I tell him reproachfully, drawing my right forefinger up his chest and tapping him on the nose with it. "When I want one of my own, I'll let you know. But not a moment beforehand, okay?"

   Sam laughs. "Sure thing, boss – I think I can remember that…"


End file.
